Hollow
by Inuzuki
Summary: A one-shot describing how Roy deals with the events of episode 25. (RoyAngst, major ep. 25 spoiler)


**Title:** Hollow  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** Drama/Angst  
**Words:** 4,254  
**Summary:** A one-shot describing how Roy deals with the events of episode 25. (RoyAngst, major ep. 25 spoiler)  
**Author's notes:** This is my first Fullmetal Alchemist fanfiction, so I thought I'd start off with a one-shot to get me into the heads of certain characters. I hope to write more FMA fanfiction in the future, so I hope you enjoy!

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Colonel Roy Mustang heard the ringing faintly, out in the hallway, as he approached the large wooden doors of his office. Hastily he wrapped his gloved fingers around a polished brass doorknob, the almost deathly coldness of it seeping through the glove's fabric to chill his skin, and twisted it. The door clicked open and gave a quiet moan as he stepped into his office.

He didn't like his office at night. It was cold and empty, and seemed unnervingly malicious with all of its dark, foreboding shadows. Shadows were something Roy Mustang did not like. Shadows concealed things.

With a snap he casually flicked on the light switch, illuminating even the deepest darkest corners of the office. Before him his mahogany desk shined in the bright light, and on top of that, in the centre, stood his telephone, screaming madly for attention. The Colonel sighed. Who would be calling his office at this time of night? He strode across the room quickly towards the phone and snatched the receiver from its cradle.

"Yes?" He spoke tiredly into the mouthpiece. "This is Colonel Mustang." He absently ran a gloved hand through his messy black hair.

The smooth female voice of the operator fell upon his ears. "Colonel Mustang, you have a phone call from a normal line from Lieutenant Colonel Hughes of Central."

"Hughes again?" He sighed exasperatedly. This was not the first call he had had from his colleague in the last twenty-four hours. "Put him through." He waited patiently for a few moments, listening to the silence all around him, until finally there was a click telling him he had been connected with Hughes' phone.

But he was greeted with only more silence.

Roy's brow furrowed as he felt a slight stab of suspicion. It was unlike Hughes to be so quiet on the phone. Usually as soon as the lines were connected Roy would be bombarded by a string of words and sentences streaming out of the receiver. Right now, he couldn't even hear breathing on the other end. He suppressed the slight anxiety this elicited in him and spoke. "It's me. I won't listen if you're going to be bragging about your daughter again." He had had enough of hearing about little Elysia's entire three-year life history every half hour of the day.

Still there was silence.

Roy blinked as he felt a slight chill. Something wasn't right; he could feel it.

"H-Hughes?" He queried uncertainly, surprised at the waver in his own voice. "Hughes… Hey! Hughes!" There came no answer. "Hughes!!" Roy called out a little more frantically now, desperately trying to get his friend to answer. After a few moments he slowly pulled the receiver away from his ear and hesitantly placed it back on its cradle. He gazed for a long time down at the phone, before turning and leaving his office, wondering what had just happened.

He had no idea he would never hear the voice of Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes again.

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_A sudden knock on the door quickly jerked Roy from the world of his own deep thoughts and thrust him back into reality. He jumped slightly at the abrupt sound, then sighed shakily and closed his eyes. When had he become so edgy? He inhaled deeply, opening his eyes again. He stood from where he had been crouching on the dusty wooden floor and wearily made his way to the door._

_There was another set of knocking, and a familiar voice from the other side of the wood. Roy placed his hand on the doorknob, slowly turning it, and pulling his door open with a small creak._

_The friendly face of Maes Hughes staring back at him was like warm water being poured slowly over his snow-covered heart. Though unexpected guests usually irritated him, Maes was a sight for sore eyes, especially under the present circumstances. He was relieved to see the amiable face of somebody he knew._

_The look on the man's face was priceless. Roy didn't blame him; he knew he must have looked a wreck. He hadn't brushed his hair; he supposed it was sticking out in all sorts of disarranged directions, a shaver had not been anywhere near his face for days, an old tatty shirt hung loosely on his thin frame, and he had gotten minimal sleep over the past 48 hours – an action that had surely left dark circles under his eyes. Yes, he must have looked an awful mess._

_The astonished expression did not linger on Maes' face for any more than a few fleeting moments, however, as the Lieutenant Colonel smiled sincerely at his friend and held up a basket that was in his left hand._

"_It's an apple pie my wife baked," He said calmly. "Do you want some?"_

_Roy stared at Maes for a moment, trying to think of when he last ate. It had to have been yesterday morning. It had been so long since then that he couldn't even feel the hunger anymore. Perhaps his stomach had eaten itself. _

_He smiled gratefully to his friend, and stepped aside so that he could come in._

_Maes' reaction to the room Roy took him to wasn't at all unexpected, but that didn't make it any less difficult to bear. He had known his friend wouldn't like it, but somehow he felt that if he didn't show it to someone he would explode from the inside out. Maybe his mind was subconsciously calling out for help; making him feel this way on purpose. He knew he was in way over his head._

_The room was like some kind of underground bunker. It was dimly-lit, the curtains were drawn so only the tiniest rays of light could filter through into the darkness, the floor was dusty and covered in messy chalk transmutation circles that Roy had shakily drawn, and all the tables and shelves were littered with stacks upon stacks of research papers and scribbled notes. Roy knew, by the look on his friend's face, that Maes was realising what he was trying to do._

"_Roy…"_

_The depressed alchemist ran a hand through his untidy hair and took a breath. "It's as you see, Maes… Forbidden research."_

_Maes walked towards him and in one swift movement grabbed him by the collar of his old worn shirt. Roy looked calmly into Maes' furious dark eyes. Maes spoke in a low growl._

"_I don't understand alchemy, but I understand one thing. Those that do forbidden research…" His voice trailed off, his expression softened a little. He slowly let go of Roy, never finishing his sentence._

"_Don't worry," Roy said reassuringly. "I didn't do anything."_

"_But you planned to test it, right?"_

_Roy paused, then slipped his hands into his pockets, looking down at the floor. "Many died… No, I mean, I killed them."_

"_It was a war." Maes stated in a voice barely above a whisper. Roy looked up at him for a second and then turned away, frowning._

"_You weren't there." He was a little astounded by the despair he could feel in his own voice._

_He heard Maes sigh. "If you were scared of going to war and killing that day, you should have undertaken an auxiliary assignment like I did." There was a silent pause. Then, "Did you think that becoming an alchemist and bringing back some of those people would save you?" A slight hint of his previous anger had returned to his voice._

_Roy felt a smile snake its way onto his lips. "I wonder…" There was another silent pause, and then Roy felt the sudden cold blow of Maes' fist on the side of his face. He toppled sideways, losing his footing, and winced at the throbbing pain in his cheekbone. Once he had regained his balance he raised his left hand to rub the sore area tenderly._

"_Did you think that taboo research would be so easy to accomplish with your limited intelligence?!" Maes asked, voice raised to an almost-yell. Roy tried to search for the right words to answer this question with, but found there were none. He stared down at the floor silently again, still rubbing his face lightly, but never responded. Maes' voice filled the stagnant air again. "…Or did you just want to die? If that's the case, there's a much easier way." He motioned to Roy's gun, sitting on a nearby table and gleaming almost eerily in the dim light._

_Roy lowered his hand but did not raise his eyes. He replied hesitantly. "I… I couldn't even test it, I feared losing my life that much." He hated himself for it._

"_Of course." Maes said supportively._

"_That's… the kind of human I am…"_

"_Everyone is like that."_

"_But even with such a life, there is a better way to use it." Roy turned and looked his friend right in the eyes. "Maes, I've decided."_

_Maes was hesitant, but Roy saw the flicker of curiosity in the man's eyes._

"_Let me hear it, Roy."_

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Little did Roy Mustang know that this night would be among the worst experiences of his life.

After the strange, silent phone call that had been supposedly from Hughes, he had left his office and retreated to his home for the night. The drive home had been long and uncomfortable, with First Lieutenant Hawkeye giving him glances in the rear-view mirror from the driver's seat where she was sitting. She questioned him and though he assured her everything was all right, he had been extremely quiet the entire ride and he knew that she suspected something was up. He had not been in the mood for discussing it, however, and that she also suspected. Roy was at least grateful that Hawkeye did not press on about the matter.

Once home he wasted no time in preparing for bed. It was late, he was extremely tired, and for some reason he didn't feel like doing anything else. He wasn't even hungry; the unnerving phone call had chased away his appetite. He couldn't stop thinking about it, even long after he had changed into cosy pyjamas and climbed under the comforting covers of his bed. Was somebody playing a prank? That can't have been it; for security reasons, Hughes would have had to give his personal code to the operator in order to be put through to Roy's office, and he was sure Hughes wouldn't pull a prank like that. Then, did that mean Hughes was in trouble?

Despite the thousands of questions similar to these running through his head at full-speed and giving no sign of slowing down, Roy's eyelids began to grow heavy and his grasp on consciousness faltered. Without realising it, he drifted off into a deep but troubled sleep.

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_Roy inhaled deeply. "I will become the Fuhrer," he explained to Maes. "I will change the way this country works. That is all I can do." It was a far-fetched idea, he knew, but not impossible. Maes could laugh all he wanted, Roy no longer cared about what people would think. Nothing would distract him from this ultimate goal now; he had made the decision and he would stick with it. Nobody was going to break his determination. Nobody._

_There was a pregnant pause. Roy stood in silence, allowing what he had said to sink in. Surely Maes would protest this action. Absurd, he'd say, or illogical. Roy anxiously awaited Maes' response._

"_For that, you'll need someone that understands and supports you." _

_Roy blinked and looked almost disbelievingly over at Maes, who had started eating the apple pie his wife had baked. That was the exact opposite of the reaction the Flame Alchemist had expected from his friend. Despite having decided that he didn't care what anyone thought, he felt the comforting rush of relief sweeping through him._

"_I will work under you and push you to the top." Maes stated, giving a smile and a friendly laugh. "I'll do whatever I can to help you out, Roy, if that's what you have decided."_

_Roy smiled._

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A sudden ear-piercing, high-pitched wail woke Roy from his slumber with a jolt. His eyes snapped open and his heart pounded madly. He inhaled a deep breath and realised it was the phone on his bedside table ringing. Groaning, he rubbed tired eyes with his right hand and used his left hand to find the switch for his lamp. After a few moments of rummaging he flicked the switch and dim light spilled forth over the bed. Roy lifted himself onto his side and glanced down at the digital clock next to the phone. It read 2:45 AM. Wondering who would be calling him at this time of the morning, he grabbed the phone receiver, squinting and blinking sleepily in the light.

"Hello?" he mumbled into the mouthpiece.

"Colonel," came the female voice on the other end of the line. Roy recognised it as First Lieutenant Hawkeye's, but though her voice had an air of calmness to it, it sounded like she was struggling to remain composed. There was a hint of panic in her voice, but it was only slight. This was something he had never heard in her voice before.

"First-… Hawkeye?" Roy stammered, caught between sleepiness and concern. "What…?"

Her voice hesitated. "Colonel… please remain calm," she said slowly.

"Damn it Hawkeye, what is it?!" Roy demanded, confused and a little irritated. "What's happened?!"

"A body was found in Central half an hour ago," Hawkeye explained, her voice quiet and serious.

"Wh-… whose?" Roy asked uncertainly. _Don't say it_, he thought. _Please don't say it._

Hawkeye's voice betrayed her. "I-it was Lieutenant Colonel… Maes Hughes," she stammered, and her voice was thick with upset now. "He was shot."

Roy's chest and throat suddenly turned to ice and his knuckles turned white as his grip on the phone receiver tightened. He momentarily stopped breathing altogether, frozen with shock, then exhaled a shaky breath. "Colonel?" Hawkeye's worried voice came from the earpiece. "Are you there?"

"Thankyou, First Lieutenant." Roy said unsteadily, straining to keep his voice composed. "We'll catch the first train to Central in the morning. Have you contacted the others?"

"No, not yet, sir. You were the first person I called."

"I see. Make sure you let them know." Roy instructed. "See you at the train station. And try to get some sleep before then." From the way her voice sounded, he got the impression she was very upset, which was understandable. And he knew that in situations like these, people find it hard to sleep.

"Yes sir," Hawkeye said sadly. "Goodbye."

Roy dropped the receiver back on its cradle, and rolled over onto his back. He stared for a long time at the ceiling, and the silence all around him seemed deafening. His insides twisted about and then rotted away, leaving him feeling hollow and empty, drowning in a sea of his own frantic thoughts and memories. And he was numb, so numb. After a few minutes, he suddenly realised he was trembling.

He didn't go back to sleep.

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Hughes' funeral was one of the hardest things Colonel Roy Mustang had ever had to bear in his entire military career. Very few things he had experienced during his time in the military could compare with how he felt standing right before Hughes' grave, watching the casket being lowered into the ground, knowing that one of his best friends was lying within it, resting forever in eternal slumber. The dark-haired Flame Alchemist raised his right hand to salute his friend for the last time.

He hadn't seen the body, but he had to question now whether that was a good thing or a bad thing as he stood, his mind filling in the blanks with morbid thoughts of how Hughes looked, and couldn't control it. He was gazing down into the deep grave, eyes lingering on the dark coffin, and no matter how hard he tried to block it out, an image of Hughes' pale and lifeless face kept creeping into his mind.

He felt sick; his head was bowed, his eyes lowered, his entire body was cold and the tips of his fingers were tingling for some reason. He watched solemnly as the soldiers who had carried Hughes' coffin into the cemetery slowly began to shovel dirt into the grave, and his heart pounded a little faster. After a few moments he felt a hand gently rest on his left arm, and the soft but firm touch of it made him realise he was shaking ever so slightly. Surprised, he glanced to the left to see First Lieutenant Hawkeye offering him a sympathetic smile. He lowered his eyes and turned toward the grave again before hearing the small voice of Hughes' daughter Elysia, standing next to her mother Gracia, a few metres to right of the grave.

"Mama, why?" Elysia was asking her mother frantically, tugging at the woman's sleeve. "Why are they burying daddy?" Her voice was becoming more and more panicked as she spoke. Roy felt the bottom of his stomach collapse. "Why are those men burying daddy? Why?!"

"Elysia…" Gracia's voice was quiet and trembling, and Roy almost felt the sorrow in it.

"I don't like it. I don't like it!" She tugged at her mother's sleeve again, then turned to the soldiers shovelling the soil into the grave. "If you do that, daddy won't be able to work!" Tears were now running down the little girl's face. "Mama, stop them!"

"E-elysia!" Gracia crouched down and pulled her daughter into a hug, losing all her composure and being taken over by sobs that racked her body.

"Daddy said that he had a lot of work to do," Elysia cried, hugging her mother tightly. "No mama, I don't like it."

Roy heard Major Armstrong begin to cry behind him, and he inhaled deeply, his head spinning. It was all becoming too much. Elysia and Gracia's crying was breaking his heart, and Major Armstrong wasn't helping.

"Don't bury him, mama." In a last ditch effort, the little girl began calling for her father. "Daddy!" she cried. "_Daddy!!_"

And that's when Roy realised Hughes would never answer his daughter's cries ever again. He would never again stroll into Roy's office donning a huge goofy grin and carrying a stack of the latest Hughes family photographs, demanding that everyone look at how beautiful his daughter was becoming. He would never again joke to Roy about him needing to hurry up and find a wife. He would never again call Roy to report his latest findings and instead babble on about how adorable his daughter was and how wonderful his wife was. And though Roy had always hated these aggravating idiosyncrasies, he discovered now that these were the things he would truly miss the most.

Work was never going to be the same.

Roy lingered at the grave of his friend for a long time after everyone else had left. He removed his hat from his head, feeling the cool breeze gently whisper through his hair. His eyes slowly fell upon the writing on the headstone. It was wrong. It seemed so cold and lifeless, unforgiving and unsympathetic. It wasn't fitting for Hughes at all.

It took a few minutes for the Colonel to find his voice. "Getting a double promotion for dying in the line of duty…" he sighed, reading the carved writing on the headstone. "Brigadier General Hughes, huh? You said you'd support me from below. Just what are you going to do now that you've gone up higher than me?" He fell silent again for a few moments, feeling the familiar stab in his heart that he knew could only be the cold, rusty blade of sorrow. Finally he managed, "You idiot."

He heart soft footprints on the grass behind him.

"Colonel…"

Roy turned. It was Hawkeye. "Are you going to go back?" she asked softly. "It's getting cold."

"Yeah, I will." Roy replied. He turned back toward the cruel, heartless headstone standing before him, and sighed. "Alchemists are horrible people, First Lieutenant." The words seemed to be flowing from him of their own accord. He had been bottling it all up since he heard the news, but now his feelings were overflowing and spilling out. "Right now… a part of me is desperately trying to develop a theory on human transmutation." He felt Hawkeye stiffen slightly beside him as he spoke the forbidden words. "Now… now I feel that I understand what those boys… Edward and Alphonse… were feeling when they tried to transmute their mother." But it was useless, he knew, and he forced himself to discard the thought. Human transmutation was impossible. The dead are the dead. They don't come back to life. Roy was struggling to accept the fact that he had to go on without a person who was so important to him. He was struggling desperately to keep his grip on the real world; he was afraid that if he slipped even a little, it would all come crashing down around him. He spoke again, this time to Hughes' headstone.

"If you found something out… something involving Edward and Alphonse… why didn't you report it to me?" He asked. "There was no reason for you to run right ahead…" He felt so miserable thinking that Hughes could have been alive now if only he had reported his findings to him and not run ahead.

"You were not aware of it?" came Hawkeye's surprised voice from beside him. Roy turned to face her.

"Of what?" he asked curiously.

"When it comes to the two brothers, you lose your ability to make responsible decisions, Colonel."

His eyes widened in surprise; a pang of embarrassment flared up in his chest. No, he had not been aware of that.

"That's why," Hawkeye continued, "Lieutenant Colonel Hughes had locked up everything about the Elric brothers in his own heart. It was so you could aim for the top."

It felt like a pickaxe made of frost had pierced through his chest and somebody had doused him in boiling water at the same time. He swallowed thickly, turning toward the headstone again and gazing at it in confusion, his eyes searching it as if trying to seek the answer in the engraved letters. So that was why Hughes hadn't bothered to tell Roy that Ed and Al had been hospitalised a few days before the night of his death… that's why he hadn't mentioned _anything_ relating to those brothers.

_I'm a fool_, Roy thought despondently to himself. _And I just called Hughes the idiot._

Hawkeye's gentle voice soothed him a little. "Are you all right?" she asked compassionately. Roy closed his eyes and returned his hat to his head.

"I'm fine…" he said slowly.

Then it finally came. The stinging, prickling sensation of tears and the overwhelming rush of sadness pulsing through his entire body. "The…" he stammered, his voice almost failing him. "The rain has started to pour…" And the tears spilled down his hot cheeks.

"Yeah…" Hawkeye said softly. After a few moments she gently said, "Are you going back?"

"Soon." Roy replied. "You go on ahead. I'll come back soon." There was no reply from Hawkeye; there were only the faint sounds of her feet treading on the grass to let the Flame Alchemist know that his colleague had heard him. He listened as the footsteps slowly faded from his hearing, like a mellow diminuendo.

With nobody around, he gingerly wiped his face clean of the tears that had betrayed him. He lingered a little while longer, gazing down forlornly at the headstone that stood almost proudly before him. There the Colonel stood, thinking only about some of the times he had shared with his deceased friend, his head filling to the brim with memories that he abruptly realised were long since passed and never coming back. He sighed at the hollow feeling in his chest and longed to just wake up and have it all be a dream.

Finally Roy decided it was time to go back; a chilling wind had come up and was licking at his cheeks with an icy tongue. He turned and began to walk away.

But he stopped when an odd but warm tingling sensation crept into his chest, replacing the hollow feeling that was there before, and an airy voice fell upon his ears.

"You shouldn't look so sad, Roy," murmured the voice. "It doesn't suit you."

Roy spun around. "Hughes?" he queried, staring at the headstone now several metres away. Its silhouette was dark and contrasting against the reddening dusk sky. All was silent except for the whisper of a particularly icy gust of wind blowing through the Colonel's hair and the rustling of withered leaves dancing about his feet. The warm tingling sensation faded from his chest, leaving him cold and shivering once again.

Then a grin tugged at the corners of Roy Mustang's lips, curling them up into a smirk.

"You idiot, Hughes," he muttered, staring up towards the inflamed sky splashed with hues of pink and orange. "I'm an Alchemist. You know I don't believe in the supernatural."

For an instant, Roy thought he saw the faint form of a person standing next to Hughes' headstone, but he blinked and it vanished. It left him wondering if he had really seen anything at all. Of course he hadn't, he reassured himself as he turned again and began to walk.

"You know I don't believe that…" he whispered.


End file.
